


your burning body waiting

by silkinsilence



Series: Femslash February 2020 [14]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dom/sub, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍Ana enjoys playing with her pretty young doctor. Angela is grateful for what she’s given.‍
Relationships: Ana Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Femslash February 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621666
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	your burning body waiting

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from [Mitski's "Crack Baby,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edEO9Ldb_VQ) which is sort of a central theme for my Angela headcanons.

With her eyes closed, Angela is somewhere else. She is in a cocoon of warmth and golden light, held firmly but gently, happy and secure. She is safe there, but she is not alone, nor will she ever have to be alone again.

Then the callused palm makes rough contact with her bare ass again, and her eyes snap open. The brief fantasy is shattered, but an equally pleasant reality takes its place. Her breath is pushed out of her in a little gasp that’s less due to pain than she would care to admit.

“What do you say?” Ana’s voice is warm and deep. It is easily as arousing as the blow.

“Thank you,” Angela manages, and her swollen cunt throbs.

She is still being held and the light is still dim and warm. But she is also naked except for black thigh-highs and draped over her captain’s lap while she serves as her plaything.

She can think of no better way to spend an evening, and they have only just gotten started.

“You’re welcome.”

Ana fondles the tender skin she has been striking, and then her fingers slip between Angela’s cheeks. Angela makes another sound, an abridged moan, as Ana strokes her lips. She’s desperately wet, and Ana’s fingers are slick in just a few moments. She slips two inside Angela without warning or resistance.

“So loose,” Ana muses. “Such a horny girl you are. I hit you and your body thanks me for it. You want something bigger inside of you, don’t you? You can hardly feel these.”

She scissors her fingers, but it does little more than prove her point. Angela is very tempted to grind down onto Ana’s leg, but she wants to behave. She wants Ana to call her a good girl, and more than that she wants a reward.

“I want whatever you’ll give me,” she breathes.

“Ah...” Ana’s other hand releases Angela’s wrists to tousle her loose blonde hair. Angela burns with embarrassment and pleasure. The gesture feels so...affectionate.

If Ana would do it at other times, would do it when they were clothed, would—

“Do you want an orgasm, my wet little _Engel_?” 

Not so soon. She doesn’t want it over.

“If you want to give me one,” she repeats.

Ana makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle, but in her current position Angela can’t see her captain’s face. All she can do is feel as Ana’s fingers pull out of her with a wet sound, and though they didn’t fill her she feels empty without them.

And then the next hit comes, catching her squarely on her tender vulva, and she cries out properly this time. Ana’s hand is on her, grinding her palm cruelly against her clit, and the stimulation is rough and horrible and wonderful. Angela forgets that she doesn’t want this to end so soon, forgets everything but Ana and the pressure on her clit. She thrusts her hips back. Yes, she is Ana’s, a fallen angel, whorish and depraved, and there is nowhere in the world she would rather be than here.

Nowhere—

She rocks back and forth so that her breasts swing over Ana’s thighs. She’s desperate and too far gone to be ashamed of it. There is only Ana and her building orgasm, and she chases it with her whole body.

The crest comes and she tenses for it, tenses for an end.

Ana’s free hand pulls her hair _hard,_ and the pressure on her clit is gone, and she whines with dismay. Her hips rock against nothing. There are a few moments of pure blind need as she chases her stolen orgasm, but slowly the warmth dies and there is nothing to do but crane her head back and stare pleadingly up at her mistress.

Ana’s smile is warm. She looks so kind. She is not, but she looks it.

“Whatever I wanted,” she reminds Angela, who bites down her objections and nods her assent.

Ana allows her to sit up, braced with her knees on either side of Ana’s thigh. Angela is permitted to grind against Ana’s pants as she cleans her hand, though of course she dares not chase another orgasm without permission. She focuses on serving as well as she can. Ana’s fingers stroke her tongue and press cruelly toward the back of her throat. When Angela gags, her clit twitches; she’s been trained well in that.

If only cruelty didn’t turn her on, perhaps she wouldn’t have ended up here. But she has come to Ana and begged her for pain, and she always crawls back and begs for more. The pain is easier and cleaner than what she really wants, and when her ass is bruised and her neck covered in _love bites,_ she can almost ignore the deeper wound that resolutely eats her alive.

“You’re pretty when you hurt,” Ana says conversationally, as if she can read Angela’s mind. It wouldn’t really surprise her if she could. But she shudders at the comment. All the _good girls_ in the world never even come close.

_See me, Captain, see exactly what I am._

“I don’t know why I need to touch you at all. All I need to do is whisper some threats in your ear, and you’ll take them back to bed and come thinking of me over and over again, won’t you?”

Angela burns. Her eyes are tearing up from everything she’s feeling. Crying will not make Ana have mercy on her. Nothing will, unless she utters the silly word they’ve designated to end this. She won’t. She never will.

Maybe Ana knows that.

“Yes,” Angela says, because Ana is looking at her expectantly. But she is unable to stop herself, so she continues, “But I like when you touch me.”

She always says too much. She is waiting for the day when Ana will have had enough of that.

“Honesty,” Ana says. “That deserves a reward, I think.”

She wraps a hand around Angela’s waist and pulls her close. It would be a romantic gesture in a different context, but there is nothing romantic here. Ana’s other hand curls around the back of her neck. Their mouths come together, sloppy and wet as the mess between Angela’s thighs. They kiss as Ana strokes lightly over her hipbone, down to the top of her stocking and back up again.

While they kiss, while Angela is desperately drinking down everything her captain will give her, Ana grabs her hips and tenses her thigh against Angela’s core. Angela is still wound-up from the orgasm denied her, and she whimpers into Ana’s mouth.

“You can come for me,” Ana pulls away to murmur. She nips at Angela’s lip and then kisses her cheek and the side of her neck. Angela melts into the attention and mindlessly begins rocking her hips back and forth.

Ana is dressed, but her pants are rough and pleasant as Angela seeks friction. Maybe the fabric will be stained beyond repair. If it was bare skin, Ana would force Angela to clean up the mess with her tongue when she was finished, and then Angela would perhaps be permitted to let her mouth drift higher.

She loves going down on Ana. Pleasant as being her mistress’s plaything is, dressing up and squirming on her lap, there is the constant fear that she will be outgrown and discarded like any other toy. When she makes Ana come, she can pretend there is a reciprocity to it.

“Would you like it if we were in my office?” Ana says. Her firm hands on Angela’s hips move her back and forth as she moves her thigh up and down. “Or in a conference room? I would bring you with me and sit you on my lap, my little pet, and play with you in front of all of Overwatch.”

The fantasy is intoxicating. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine all eyes on them. Everyone present would see how obscene their perfect little doctor was, and exactly to whom she belonged.

“I would even make you come in front of them,” Ana whispers. Her hands are vises. “My toy, to do with as I please.”

The heat rises again quickly, so quickly, and Angela imagines she is riding this thigh in a different setting, being made to come in front of the Strike Commander and Commander Reyes and all the rest, the most powerful people in the world.

And she does come, spilling slick onto Ana’s trousers, imagining all those eyes on her.

Ana does not let her go. She keeps rubbing hard and fast even as Angela goes limp and pleasure buzzes into overstimulation.

“It’s too much, please—” she gasps.

Ana smiles. “I thought you wanted whatever I want.”

Briefly, the other fantasy intrudes: warmth. Safety. Permanence. The fantasy of a child whose world has been upturned. But Angela is no longer a child, so she closes her eyes and nods.

“Whatever you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
